


Triumph

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 12:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20930555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ardyn has Regis.





	Triumph

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonLord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonLord/gifts).

> A/N: Fill for MoonLord’s “Regis being fucked on the throne by Ardyn” request.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

By no stretch of the imagination is Regis a virgin. He was never particularly loose, but he certainly had his time in his younger days. Noctis’ mother wasn’t his first. But his other dalliances were few and far between, and he always took care to be gentle with them. Regis is no stranger to making love. 

But he doesn’t think he’s ever been so well and truly _fucked_ as he is now. The hard cock of his bitter rival drives up into his body, and Regis bites back his bottled scream. It goes so deep, impossibly wide, stretching him out and grinding in. No one’s ever accused the Imperial Chancellor of doing anything small. He fucks Regis with as grandiose a flare as he dresses and speaks. He crowds Regis up against the back of the throne, smothering him, and slams harder into his body. 

It’s all so very _undignified._ Regis is, technically, sitting in his chair, but his legs are thrown wide over the armrests, Ardyn’s knees wedged under his thighs, Ardyn’s body tight up against his. Even though Regis is physically on top, Ardyn seems to tower over him. He feels vaguely suffocated. His fingers dig into the thick coat that Ardyn wears, nowhere near reaching actual skin. But Ardyn’s casually torn Regis’ best suit apart bit by bit, and Ardyn’s hands seem to roam everywhere, sliding under black fabric and digging down into his skin. He can feel the dull scrape of Ardyn’s nails dragging tracks across his body. He thinks that he’ll have bruises from it tomorrow. His limp will definitely be worse. He’s in no shape to be taken so brutally, but he can’t seem to bring himself to make it stop. 

In a way, this is just what he wanted. That’s how Ardyn got to him. A stray look over the council table, a quick flick of the tongue, a whispered word here and there—Ardyn has been working him since the moment that the Empire arrived. Iedolas is a repulsive little toad, but his chancellor is vile perfection. He seems to know just what Regis wants, and he corrupts it, then delivers it. His thrusts and red-lined eyes seem to pierce into Regis’ very soul. It’s both torturous and scintillating. Regis is too old to be taken in by such sick and erotic games, but he’s proven no match for the chancellor. Worst of all, Ardyn knows it. His disquieting smirk hasn’t left since the moment he first discarded Regis’ belt. 

Regis hisses in pain when a particularly relentless thrust slams him hard into the backrest. His shoulder hits at a bad angle, his back crying in protest. He’s in no shape to be fucked so deep. He should’ve insisted they make it back to his quarters, but Ardyn seemed so intent on claiming him here. There’s no room for it. Regis’ whole body is throbbing. His channel’s aching most of all. It’s been too long. He loves the raw burn of Ardyn’s fat cock inside him, and he savours as much as he laments it. 

Just when Regis is reaching his edge, his cock untouched and bouncing frantically in his neglected lap, Ardyn purrs, “So soon, Your Majesty? Honestly, I’m disappointed...”

If Regis had the breath, he’d remind his partner that he’s too busy with this infernal war to ever get laid. This orgasm has been a long time coming. But he’s too busy panting for air to breathe a word. He tries to save face by holding back, but Ardyn’s large hand finally locks around his shaft, and a few dry strokes are enough to bring an end. Humiliated, Regis cries out and bursts. Ardyn wears the same amused expression as he idly pumps Regis through the orgasm. 

On his last spurt, Ardyn sighs. Regis can feel a hot liquid bubbling up inside him and knows that Ardyn’s coming. Regis feels sick—he can’t remember why he didn’t insist on a condom. His clenching channel’s filled with jet after jet of Ardyn’s warm release, far past what Regis would expect—Ardyn seems to come an inhuman amount. Only when he’s milked out every drop does he finally stop slamming into Regis. Then he leaves Regis there, fully impaled, and sweeps a patronizing eye down his ruined body. 

A hand curls under Regis’ chin. He’s tilted forward, too tired to pull away. Ardyn brushes a chaste kiss over his lips—the first one that they’ve shared. 

Ardyn coos, “Good boy,” as though he’s the king and Regis merely a pleasure-slave. In that moment, he feels rather used. 

He also feels spent and thoroughly satisfied, more sated than he’s been in years. He remains in that broken position until Ardyn starts slowly fucking him again, and Regis gratefully accepts the encore.


End file.
